4st 7lb
by philalethia
Summary: Mimi has an eating disorder. Sora tries to help. Shoujo ai Somi
1. 4st. 7lb.

I remember it like it was yesterday, the look of annoyance written plainly on her face, the way her eyes seemed to glow with anger

Notes: First things first, I don't own Digimon. Can you imagine how dark it would be if I actually did?

This fic contains bits of shoujo ai (a.k.a. f/f cuteness), Somi to be specific. I suppose if you absolutely wanted it to, it could be just a friendship thing but it's not intended to be. It also portrays one of the characters as having an eating disorder, which can be an uncomfortable subject for some people, I understand. If it bothers you, then you probably should leave.

This is going to be a 2-part thing; I'll probably post the other part in a few days. This is Sora's POV, the other is Mimi's. The title and lyrics are from "4st. 7lb." by the Manic Street Preachers. It's a good song…they say my name in it. Of course, they're not talking about me, but…

Anyway, enjoy.

* * * * *

I remember it like it was yesterday, the look of annoyance written plainly on her face, the way her eyes seemed to glow with anger.

"I don't know what you're going on about," she declared with a huff. "I'm fine!"

"Mimi, you are not fine! You're pale, tired, withdrawn, and I'm nearly positive that you've lost weight! Something is wrong with you, and I want to know what it is!"

She huffed loudly, turned on her heels, and started to storm out of the room. But not before she paused briefly to shoot me a glance over her shoulder.

I felt myself soften at that look, although I couldn't tell you why. The irritation I had been feeling merely seconds ago faded into something, an emotion I'd never felt before. It was like fear, sadness, worry, and pain all molded into one.

"Mimi, please…"

She blinked, almost seeming started that I spoke, and then continued out, slamming the door behind her.

I took a deep breath and tried to assess the situation. Mimi and I had just had a fight; she had just walked out. I should go after her, but my feet won't move. They feel like weights, forcing me to stay put.

But most importantly, something is wrong. I have this feeling that something is very, very wrong.

And I can't do a single thing about it.

* * * * *

__

Karen says I've reached my target weight

Kate and Emma and Kristin know it's fake

Problem is diet's not a big enough word

* * * * *

"I think you're overreacting."

My frown deepened as I stopped to stare at the blond musician. "What do you mean?"

Matt shrugged and kept walking past me. I had to increase my speed to keep up with him. "Finals are coming up. People are always stressing out when it's finals time. It's no big deal. She'll be better in a few days."

I almost couldn't stop the groan that was trying to force its way out of my mouth. "Yes, but this is Mimi we're talking about, not Joe. Mimi doesn't care about finals. I doubt she even knows that we have them. I'm telling you that something is wrong."

He sighed and shook his head, sending locks of hair into his eyes. In a quick motion they were back in their normal position. "And I'm telling you it's nothing. Hell, what is it you girls are always complaining about? PMS? Maybe that's it."

"Matt, for God's sake! PMS is not something that should affect your appearance, and Mimi looks sick!"

"Whatever. I'm not a girl; I know nothing of your female issues. I only know that it seems like you all are bitching about them daily." He made a small dismissing hand motion. "You're overreacting, Sora. It's simple as that. She's having a bad week and you're blowing it out of proportion. No big deal, you tend to do that a lot with her."

"Huh?" I stopped walking just long enough to give his back a strange look before quickly catching back up with him. If one paused for too long with Matt Ishida, one might never catch up with him. Damn him and his legs anyway.

"I don't know. You do. You flip out if the smallest thing could possibly affect her."

"I do not."

He snickered, then gave me a knowing look. "Yes, you do. Remember last year when you saw her and that Meyers guy talking in the hallway?"

I squinted at him, trying to see what was so wrong about that. "So? He's a heartbreaker. Everybody knows that. I didn't want her getting hurt, like his last girlfriend. Besides, he kept staring at her chest."

"So you slapped him."

"Yes, I slapped him. And now he's afraid of me. What's wrong with it? Mimi's my friend."

Matt nodded at me and readjusted his guitar case on his shoulder. "So if some guy was eyeing my crotch, and he had a bad rep, you'd slap him for me?"

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Both you and I know you'd enjoy someone eyeing your crotch, player or not."

In response I received a light smack and a chuckle.

"Seriously though, you don't think something is wrong with her?"

With a loud sigh, he turned to face me. "If I thought there was something seriously out of place, you know I'd never just stand by and do nothing. She's practically my sister, both of you are actually. But I don't. I mean, she's Mimi. She's fine, trust me."

But try as I might, I just couldn't squelch this horrible feeling in my stomach that said Mimi was in trouble.

* * * * *

__

I want to walk in the snow

And not leave a footprint

I want to walk in the snow

And not soil its purity

* * * * *

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm my heart which for some odd reason had started pounding erratically the moment I stepped foot into the restaurant. For the life of me I don't know why I'm so nervous.

"Mimi," I started, staring intently at my napkin. I hated it; I didn't know what to say. I'd had a speech earlier, when I'd asked her to meet me for lunch. But I couldn't remember a single word of it.

"Are you waiting for it to jump up and bite you or something?"

I jumped, my gaze leaving the piece of maroon cloth for only a second before returning. "No, I was just admiring the pattern. Such an interesting one, isn't it?"

"Sora, there is no pattern. It's plain."

I blinked stupidly, suddenly realizing that sure enough there wasn't one. "I know. Isn't it sort of surreal? A napkin with no pattern?"

"Sora, are you feeling okay?" Her wide eyes stared curiously at me from behind a few strands of long hair. She looked tired, and I could have sworn that her face was shrinking. Her cheeks seemed almost sunken.

I should have been asking her if she felt all right.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I found myself answering. "I just wanted to apologize for the other day, when I blew up at you. I'm sorry…"

Mimi shook her head and started to mix the dressing into her salad with her fork. "Don't be. I wasn't exactly pleasant either. How about we just put it behind us?"

"Yeah, okay." I narrowed my eyes at the way she was messing with her food. Something about it seemed wrong. 

God, that sounds neurotic. Mimi's not eating right. How weird do I sound? 

"But that's not all I wanted to talk about."

Her head cocked to the side. "Oh? What else then?" 

She took a quick drink of water, and once again I was stuck by how odd it seemed.

"Well, I don't want to start another fight again, but I just want to make sure that you're okay. I asked Matt about it, and he said not to worry. But I can't help it."

A sound came out of her throat that sounded something like a groan. "Not this again. I'm just fine, Sora, nothing is wrong. Why on earth do you think there is?"

I clenched my hands together. "Look at you! You look sick!" People in the restaurant were staring at us, but at that moment I could have cared less. "Something is not right with you, and I want to know what it is!"

"Oh, I wish you'd stop this! I'm perfectly fine. You're the one that is making something 'not right' here!"

Before she had even finished the sentence she was stalking out of the restaurant, leaving me to cradle my aching head in my hands. This was becoming more and more painful.

"Excuse me, ma'am, can I get you something?"

I exhaled loudly and gave the waiter a small smile. "No, thank you."

When he was gone, I propped myself up on my elbows and stared blankly at the space that Mimi had just occupied. I let my gaze wander down a little bit until it stops on her plate, and with a start I realize why it seemed that she was eating strangely.

She hadn't eaten anything at all.

* * * * *

__

Naked and lovely and 5st. 2

May I bud and never flower

My vision's getting blurry

But I can see my ribs and I feel fine

My hands are trembling stalks

And I can feel my breasts are sinking

* * * * *

"So what can I do for you…" he paused, to glance at my name. "Sora?"

I stared critically at this fat man who had sat himself down in front of me. I'd never been to the school counselor before and being there felt extremely wrong. 

Especially since that man didn't look like a counselor, he looked like a gym teacher. I didn't want to tell a gym teacher about Mimi, but he was the only one I could think of.

"Well I have this friend." I gave him a pointed look, as if trying to tell him that this was in fact a friend I was talking about, that I wasn't just ashamed to admit that it was me.

He seemed to understand, or at least he pretended like he did. "Go on."

"I'm really worried about her. She's…she hasn't been herself for a long time. She's tired, and she looks sick and pale. And I don't think she's eating."

The counselor gazed at me for a long while, his face twisting in what looked like concern although I could have been mistaken. "Have you tried to talk to her about this?"

I bit back a sarcastic reply. "Several times. She just gets angry with me, tells me that everything is 'perfectly fine'. We're actually not talking right now. I don't know what to do."

His frown deepened, causing me in turn to frown at him.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that? What should I do? What's wrong with my friend?" My voice took on a frantic yet pleading tone. Visions of Mimi dying of some horrible disease flew into me head.

"To be perfectly honest with you, Sora," he paused, his fuzzy eyebrows forming one big one, and I could have sworn I saw his stomach jiggle when he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It sounds like she has anorexia."

I shook my head vehemently. "No, I don't think so. Mimi doesn't have anorexia. That's a mental disorder. She's…not the…no. She just doesn't." The images of Mimi dying were replaced by images I had seen in our health book in 6th grade, of girls so thin and frail they looked like they'd survived Auschwitz. Mimi wasn't like that.

"Your friend, Mimi? Is she by chance very focused on how her appearance, how she looks?"

I found it sickening that he thought it was necessary to define appearance, but pushed it to the back of my mind. "Yes, but-"

"And you say she's not eating."

"Yes, but she…" I trailed off, suddenly feeling very disgusted with myself. "She's…" I tried again, but I couldn't force it out of my mouth. "Excuse me."

I all but ran out of the office, and I didn't stop until I was safely inside the nearest girl's bathroom. After quickly making sure that I was the only one in it, I slid into one of the many stalls and leaned my forehead against the door.

And then I started to cry.

* * * * * 

__

Kate and Kristin and Kit Kat

All things I like looking at

Too weak to fuss, too weak to die

Choice is skeletal in everybody's life

I choose, my choice, I starve to frenzy

Hunger soon passes and sickness soon tires

* * * * *

I remember once a few years ago when I didn't eat for a day, not intentionally though. I was so busy that day, going from place to place, that I honestly didn't have even five minutes to grab something. By about 6:00, my head was pounding so much that I ate dinner then went straight to bed.

I couldn't imagine what it must feel like for Mimi, not eating a full meal for days, possibly weeks, on end.

__

Anorexia nervosa.

I had looked it up in my mom's medical dictionary the night before.

It had said quite plainly, "Fifteen percent of all anorexia sufferers die, which makes it the deadliest of all psychiatric disorders."

I stopped reading after that sentence. 

And then I decided that I would talk to Mimi and make her stop this. She couldn't die, she just couldn't.

I didn't even give her a chance to talk when I showed up at her door the next day. I merely pushed my way past her and stood in the living room, giving her an accusing look.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, glaring at her. She looked the same, no better, no worse. Of course now that I realized what she was doing, it seemed worse to me.

"Sora?" Her eyes blinked, and I saw that they had lost their color. Now they seemed to be a pale shade of gray, no brightness, no warmth, no nothing. I felt sick. "What are you talking about?"

"This!" I gestured with my hand toward her body. She really didn't look as skinny as those girls in the health book, so I took that as a good sign.

"Huh?"

I had to stop and take a deep breath. Suddenly it seemed like things were going way too fast. "Don't play dumb, Mimi. You're…you're starving yourself and I want to know why!"

Her eyes widened and her lips turned into a little white line. "I am not."

"Yes, you are! I can't believe I didn't see it before, but you're doing it."

"Sora…"

I stomped my foot like a child throwing a tantrum, which is probably what I was. "Don't 'Sora' me. I want to know what you're thinking right now."

Her lip trembled and she opened her mouth, then she shut it. I saw unshed tears glistening in her eyes and I felt even more nauseous. 

"Why do you care?" she asked in a strained voice, looking away. 

"Why? Because I love you, that's why! Now for God's sake, Mimi, talk to me!" I fought against the urge to shake her; that wouldn't do any good.

Her lip trembled again. "You wouldn't understand," she sobbed, collapsing forward into my arms.

I drew her close to me and made my way back towards the couch, sitting both of us down when I got there. She was practically on my lap, but I didn't care.

She was so small, so thin. I'm positive I could feel her bones, and I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed how skinny she was before.

"You wouldn't understand. You can't understand." She still continued to sob. I don't think she knew what she was talking about anymore.

We spent the next hour or so like that, Mimi crying into my shoulder and me cradling her, mumbling words of comfort to her.

Never in my entire life have I ever been so afraid of the future.

* * * * *

__

Yeh 4st. 7, an epilogue of youth

Such beautiful dignity in self-abuse

I've finally come to understand life

Through staring blankly at my navel

* * * * *


	2. Anas Song

Please die, Ana 

Notes: This is the 2nd and last part. It's Mimi's POV and yes, I know she's OOC. Be warned that this has some content that may bother some people, mainly shoujo ai and an account of an eating disorder that some might consider graphic. The lyrics are from "Ana's Song" by Silverchair.

* * * * * 

__

Please die Ana

For as long as you're here, we're not

* * * * *

I hate food. I think I always have. My mother said that I never seemed to want my bottle when I was a baby, that I worried my doctor when I was six and declared myself a vegetarian.

Somehow he talked me out of it though, and I started eating meat again. Actually it was more like I forced myself to start eating it. I could hardly even look at a piece of chicken without feeling nauseous.

I suppose that it shouldn't be a surprise what happened next.

It started about 6 months ago. I remember it extremely well. It was a Tuesday, the day after our grades were mailed home. My mother had yelled at me the previous night, about how my matching Ds in chemistry and geometry must be brought up.

So I was actually paying attention in chemistry, for the first time in God knows how long.

The section we were discussing was about calories, what they are and how to measure them and such. Nothing worth listening to, I thought, but I did anyway.

And our teacher, being the walking, talking book of knowledge that he is, commented on how the calorie number shown on food labels aren't actual calories; they're kilocalories. According to him, if something says that it has 70 calories, it actually means 70 kilocalories or 70,000 calories.

At home that night, as I was watching television, I happened to glance at the nutrition facts on my Coca-Cola. 140 calories, it claimed, which I now knew was really 140,000 calories.

My mind started whirling. If a soda had that many calories, then what about actual meals? God, I must have been eating millions of calories a day.

I found myself running into the bathroom to look in the mirror, and I froze when I saw myself.

I was _huge_! How I could have not seen it before is beyond me. I must've weighed hundreds of pounds.

I tore apart the bathroom closet, looking for the scale I knew was buried among the pink towels. When I found it I saw there were no batteries, and I ran to the kitchen to retrieve some.

My hands were trembling uncontrollably as I put them into the scale. I knew that I shouldn't weigh myself, that I wouldn't like the glowing red numbers it would spit out at me.

But I had to do it. I had to know.

So I stepped on and waited for my fate to be decided.

92 pounds.

I felt lightheaded as I stepped off of the scale. Numbers were flying quickly through my mind, mainly those 140,000 calories that were floating in my body at that minute. Suddenly I realized that not only was I already fat, but that soda was making me even fatter. I was growing at that very minute. And then that 92 was getting doubled and tripled and squared until it turned into some ungodly number that made me sick.

The next thing I knew, I was hunched over the toilet with my index finger shoved down my throat.

Strange as it may sound, I felt better after I got done, sort of like a new person, which was just what I intended to become.

And I vowed, then and there, that I would never eat again.

* * * * *

__

You make the sound of laughter and sharpened nails seem softer

And I need you now somehow

* * * * *

The next morning I was a little more rational. I decided that I would still eat, but only dinner. And even then I wouldn't eat more than a few bites of it.

I started to lose weight. I suppose that it was quite quickly compared to the various other diets, but to me it was far too slow.

So I ate even less.

I skipped dinner, telling my parents that I wasn't hungry. The funny thing is that I really wasn't lying. I should have been starving, I know, but I wasn't.

They bought it for a while, but eventually they got suspicious. My dad tried to make me eat, and my mom tried to play a shrink, asking me why I wasn't eating. I told her that I just wanted to lose a few pounds. She yelled at me, and told me I was stupid and that starving myself wouldn't help me lose weight.

Which was obviously a lie, because I'd already lost 10 pounds and it'd only been a week. I sort of wanted to call Slim Fast and tell them that they were full of it, but I thought that might be bragging so I didn't.

But I started to eat dinner again, to appease my parents. And then when I was alone in the bathroom I threw every bit of it up. After about a month, my index finger had tiny black bruises all over it, from my teeth pushing on it I guess. So I had to stop that, so no one would ask my where they came from.

Then I turned to laxatives and Ipecac syrup. Although I couldn't use too much of the syrup because it's only sold in one store in town (well actually, every where else had it in back and you had to ask for it, but I didn't want to do that), and it's in these little bottles that I could go through daily if I wanted to. But I didn't want to look suspicious so I stayed mainly on the laxatives.

And I lost weight, quickly at first and then it slowed down, almost as though my body were telling me that I couldn't lose anymore weight. But I was determined to, so I didn't stop.

That was when Sora started to notice. I was happy at first, that someone saw that I was getting skinnier. But she started to tell me that I looked sick, and she kept asking me what was wrong with me.

Suddenly it wasn't so wonderful, what I was doing. I had this strange feeling that it would disgust her, and she'd hate me. I would rather be fat than have Sora hate me. I think I'd die if she hated me.

I stopped taking the laxatives, threw my Ipecac away, and tried to eat. And each time I found myself hunched over the toilet, unable to stop the bile from flowing out of my mouth. No fingers, no syrup, nothing. I was just automatically vomiting.

I hated it.

So I quit eating again, and not just because I was tired of spending my nights locked in a bathroom. Because I was still fat, no matter what anyone said. And because I didn't feel right when I ate, which sounds odd I know. I can't explain it.

Sora started to get persistent. Every day it was, "Mimi, please tell me what's wrong." I didn't know what to day. So that's when the fights began, because the only thing I could think to do was yell at her.

Then she came to my house that night demanded to know why. I remember crying. I remember that I couldn't stop, so she took me in her arms and just held me.

She couldn't understand. No one could possibly understand. I remember telling her that. In fact that was all I could say. Nothing else would come out.

"Help me understand then," she said, burying her face in my hair.

So I tried.

I told her about how it started, about the calories. I showed her where the bruises used to be and told her about the laxatives and Ipecac. I explained how I couldn't stop, about the vomiting.

And I remember thinking, as she nuzzled the top of my head and whispered comforting words, _It'll be okay. Sora knows and it'll be all right._

She sighed loudly and pulled me to my feet.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go somewhere."

Without releasing my hand from her death grip, she looked me in the eye and asked me to trust her.

I told her that I did. I trusted Sora more than I trusted anyone before in my life. I trusted her _with_ my life.

How stupid I can be sometimes.

She took me to the hospital.

* * * * *

__

Open fire on the needs designed

On my knees for you

Open fire on my knees desires

What I need from you

* * * * *

62 pounds, that's how much I weighed when I was admitted.

They gave me my own room. It was bland, lots of pale blues and greens. Not nearly enough pinks for my liking. The TV remote had no batteries, so I had no real entertainment.

Except of course the various different people who visited me, most of which were doctors. The rest were the people the doctors forced me to see.

I wasn't allowed visitors. Apparently that's a privilege that I haven't yet earned.

I can't have visitors until I'm at least 70 pounds. I tried to tell them that there is no way I'll ever weigh that much, but they don't listen.

They just send more doctors who continue to feed me meaningless figures. 2500 calories, they say. That's how much I should be eating. I try to explain that I _an_ eating 2500 calories, but they don't understand.

They started talking to the nurses about putting me into the psychiatric ward, so I stopped bothering.

Then they send a bunch of therapists who start talking about cages and control. Half of the time I just sort of nod at them and the other half I merely glare.

They say I have anorexia nervosa and bulimia nervosa. I try to explain that I'm just dieting, but they keep shaking their heads, almost as if to say, "What a tragedy."

But in reality, they're the tragedy. God knows how many calories they eat in a day to get as fat as most of them are.

Sure, they try to make me eat. There's always a nurse who comes to sit with me when I get my food. I always force a few bites down my throat to appease her, but she still makes a strange clucking sound and scribbles something on her clipboard.

I'm not allowed to go to the bathroom unsupervised. So they can make sure I keep the little that I eat down, I guess. I bothered me at first. Now I don't mind as much.

Despite their efforts, however, I'm pretty sure that I've lost weight, although they won't tell me how much. They just say that the moment I get below 55, I'm getting put on hyperalimentation.

In other words, I get a tube stuck down my throat.

When my mealtime nurse told me this, I briefly considered telling her to bring it on. Instead I nodded and looked away, trying to process this new information.

She said that my lack of interest disturbed her and left. I gave her retreating back the finger and resumed staring at the black TV screen.

They don't understand. That seems to be my motto these days. They don't understand.

And yet, when it really comes down to it, I don't understand either.

At first it was a diet, a way to lose some weight. And even though I say it still is now, I can't help but think that it's something much more.

Because it doesn't matter how much I weigh anymore, whether it be 2 pounds or 200.

Either way, I'm still not going to eat.

* * * * *

__

And you're my obsession

I love you to the bone

And Ana wrecks your life

Like an anorexia life

* * * * *

The hospital bent the rules last week and I was allowed visitors, because they thought it would help speed my recovery. I frowned at the word 'recovery' but said nothing.

My parents were the first to arrive. I thought I'd be happy to see them, but I found myself hating them and wishing they'd just leave.

My mother was full of questions. They were horrible questions, questions that I couldn't answer even if I wanted to.

"Why are you doing this?" she kept asking. "Don't you see how sick you look, how sick you're making yourself?"

My father, on the other hand, didn't so much as look at me. He was too busy making sure the doctors didn't blame him for what I was doing, trying to convince them that this wasn't his fault. Although I'm not sure why they would think he is responsible. He isn't.

Eventually my nurse came and made both of them leave. She said they were 'upsetting the patient.' I've decided that maybe she isn't so bad.

About an hour later, Matt came. He promptly sat down in a chair and spent the next 30 minutes apologizing.

"You're my best goddamn friend, and I can't even notice that you're sick," he said with his head in his hands, sounding very lost and confused and totally out of character. "I'm so sorry."

I would have put my arms around him, but he was too far away and I felt too tired and sick to move. So I tried to tell him that it was all right, but he wouldn't have any of it. He just kept on apologizing, until he left at around noon.

The rest of the Chosen came one by one throughout the afternoon. Most of their visits were uneventful and took about the same turn as Matt's. They all ended up saying the word 'sorry' about a million times in an uneasy voice and eyeing me as though I were a glass figurine. Kari sounded like she would start crying at any given second, and Miyako actually did burst into hysterical tears. I found myself hugging her, despite the fact that the room started spinning the second I sat up.

Sora was the last visitor I had that night. She came at 6:20, with a small pink teddy bear in her hand. She placed the bear on my food table, which had just been cleared about ten minutes ago, pulled the chair closer to my bed, and sat down.

"You have no idea how worried I've been," she said quietly as she entwined our fingers. "The nurses said you couldn't have visitors, so I tried to call but they wouldn't let me talk to you."

Our eyes met briefly before I had to look away. The emotions I saw were way too much for me to handle.

"I love you," she murmured, reaching up to brush a piece of hair away from my face.

"I know." Memories of the last time she told me that began to filter into my head. 

"No, I don't think you do." Sora leaned back into the chair, causing her to break contact with me. Immediately I wanted her to move back. "That's why I took you here, and I know you're still probably a little bitter that I did."

"Just a little bit," I agreed a bit coldly.

"You're hurting yourself, Mimi. And when you hurt yourself, it hurts me because I can't stand to see you do it. It's killing me to see you here like this."

I turned my head to look at her, although I did it a bit too quickly because I started to feel queasy. "You don't understand. I'm _fat_."

She was obviously shocked. "No you're not! You've never been fat! You've never been anything but beautiful!"

I shook my head vehemently. "You're lying. I'll never be skinny."

"Skinny? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

I opened my mouth to tell her no, the doctors won't allow me to for some reason. But she's already talking again.

"You are so skinny it's not funny. Do you know how much you weigh now? 59 pounds, you weigh 59 pounds. That's like half as much as you should weigh, for God's sake! You're killing yourself!" 

Her voice was raising, and I kept expecting the nurse to come in and take her away but she didn't. And for that I was grateful. I didn't want Sora to leave, no matter how much she lied.

Because she _was_ lying, I was still fat. She just wouldn't say it.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the strong urge I had to cry. I managed to repress it and instead I found myself whispering, "I love you."

Exactly where they came from I may never know. I certainly wasn't thinking anything along those lines. Yet when I opened my mouth those three words just slipped out.

She kissed me then, gently and sweetly, and the warm feeling that was developing in my chest surprised me.

"I'm sorry," I said softly when she pulled away. "For everything."

Sora sighed and pulled me into her arms, reminding me once again of the night she took me to the hospital.

"So am I, Mimi," she said. "So am I."

__

Please die Ana.


End file.
